A
SONG
.
'TIS
strange
,
this
Heart
within
my
breast
,
Reason
opposing
,
and
her
Pow'rs
,
Cannot
one
gentle
Moment
rest
,
Unless
it
knows
what's
done
in
Yours
.
In
vain
I
ask
it
of
your
Eyes
,
Which
subt'ly
wou'd
my
Fears
controul
;
For
Art
has
taught
them
to
disguise
,
Which
Nature
made
t'
explain
the
Soul
.
In
vain
that
Sound
,
your
Voice
affords
,
Flatters
sometimes
my
easy
Mind
;
But
of
too
vast
Extent
are
Words
In
them
the
Jewel
Truth
to
find
.
Then
let
my
fond
Enquiries
cease
,
And
so
let
all
my
Troubles
end
:
For
,
sure
,
that
Heart
shall
ne'er
know
Peace
,
Which
on
Anothers
do's
depend
.